


We Go Together

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine asks Kitty on a date. She surprises herself when she agrees to go. (Vaguely 60s-ish AU. Trigger warning for a very brief mention of canon sexual assault.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Go Together

**Author's Note:**

> Title is cribbed from the same song from 'Grease', because the gifs from 'The End of Twerk' evoked a kind of ‘Grease’ feeling, although Grease was 50s and the History of Dance costumes were from the 60s. Run with it.
> 
> Also, because this was *supposed* to be quick and light, my Googling of musical history took about two minutes and three websites. Anachronisms are likely. “Somewhere in the mid-60s” is about as accurate as this gets.

Kitty Wilde is blonde and popular and the top of the cheer pyramid, and she is as surprised as anybody when preppy, bookish Blaine Anderson approaches her in the middle of the school corridor before homeroom asks her to accompany him to the fair that’s just arrived in town. She’s seen him around, of course, but he keeps to himself a lot. She doesn’t know him, and she thinks of him kind of shy unless he’s with the outcasts and losers he calls friends. He has got an incredibly enthusiastic smile, though, and a great sense of style for a bona fide geek, and he does that thing with his hair that makes her think of Buddy Holly and should be a decade out of date but he somehow pulls it off. Objectively, she thinks you could probably die in his eyes and you’d feel euphoric whilst it was happening. Waiting for her answer, though, he just looks nervous, his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes blinking owlishly behind the heavy frames of his spectacles. 

Her initial reaction is to giggle and pull her hair over his shoulder, toy with the ends, but that seems childish. She’s sophomore, not a baby freshman, and so she straightens her spine and gives his invitation the serious consideration it deserves. Blaine opens his mouth, probably to tell her it doesn’t matter, and so she bobs her head just once before he can say anything, and says she’d love to go with him, before turning on her heel and flouncing down the corridor, high pony swaying behind her head and her hips sashaying with emphasised swing. She stops at her locker and carefully checks her makeup in its reflection, angling it just enough to see down the corridor behind her. She’s both mollified and flattered to see his enthusiastic smile break out across his face, and his gleeful fist pump as he pirouettes on the spot, before she snaps the mirror shut and pushes it back into her purse. She walks away without looking back once, feline smile playing on her lips. He’s cute, she thinks, and tells herself she will never tell her friends on the Cheerios. Lima is small, and what status she has matters.

*

They make plans subtly – notes slipped into lockers, or parsed as trying to get the band to work with the cheer team on a routine – for Blaine to pick her up from her house. They agree to 5pm, and Blaine arrives on the dot, knocking the door just as the clock in the hall chimes. Kitty’s parents let him into their main foyer when he arrives, and she watches, peeking quietly around the top of the stairs, as her dad assesses Blaine, staring hum up and down and back up again. Blaine pushes his glasses up his nose and coughs into his fist, and then, for want of anything to do with his hands, smoothes his impeccable chequered jacket across his hips. She smiles to herself as she watches the nervous flutter of his hands, as he suppresses the clear desire to check the barely tamed wave of his hair. She takes pity on him then, and clatters loudly onto the second landing of the stairs, and watches as Blaine’s eyes turn up to meet hers. She likes the subtle blush the stains the tops of his cheekbones, and how wide his eyes go as she descends. She likes to be noticed, loves to be admired, and she’s dressed for both, choosing her high-waisted capris and midriff baring shirt carefully. She’s rolled her hair as well, and pinned it back from her face with a wide white headband, and her eyeliner forms careful cat’s eyes, pretty feline flicks out to the corners of the sockets. If she says so herself, she looks like a million dollars. She checks her reflection in the hall mirror, turning her head this way and that, and then reaches for a lightweight cardigan and her purse. 

“Don’t wait up, Daddy,” she says, and turns to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure Blaine will bring me home okay.” 

She smiles brightly at Blaine over her shoulder, and he bobs his head mutely, and gestures that he will make sure no harm comes to her whilst they’re out.

*

He rediscovers his tongue in the car, manages to tell her she looks swell. “Your hair is really pretty,” he says, and she demurs coyly and bats her eyelids at him. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she responds, and there’s that blush on his cheeks again. “You look pretty swell, too.” 

She reaches for the radio and turns it on, and doesn’t argue when he turns it up, tinny strains of the Beatles flooding the car. She notices his fingers tap along to the beat, and she smiles at him. She’s more of a Rolling Stones fan, but one look at Blaine Anderson and she knew he’d be a Beatles kind of guy. He probably likes Bob Dylan and Elvis and Buddy Holly as well, not that there’s anything wrong with Elvis. (Her mom refuses to let her watch Elvis Presley when he’s on the television. She says it’s obscene, which only makes Kitty more determined to see him. She has earmarked allowance to buy tickets when he’s next in Dayton or Toledo.) “You like this music?” she asks, and he nods and hums a few bars of it. 

“Do you sing?” he says, and she nods, and hums with him to the radio before he breaks into actually singing the words, his voice a sweet tenor, and she feels the blush stain her cheeks instead. She stops singing and looks quickly out of the car window, and refuses to think about the way she feels easy and loose in his presence. Being alone with Blaine in his car makes her feel safe, and she’s not used to that at all, not since that thing happened with her friend’s older brother. He tails off into silence as well, and she glances back at him. 

“You don’t have to stop,” she says. “You sounded great.”

He shrugs and smiles and, dapper to the last, says, “I don’t know this song,” and turns the radio off with a click. 

“You’re pretty sweet, Blaine Anderson,” she tells him, and his smile grows wider by increments until he’s beaming out of the windshield.

*

The fair actually turns out to be a lot of fun. Kitty drapes her cardigan around her shoulders, and Blaine undoes the buttons of his jacket. When Blaine isn’t looking, Kitty admires his trim little waist and soft looking tummy where it pushes against the buttons of his shirt. He wins her a giant stuffed dog on the hoopla and then, like the gentleman he is, carries it for a while before taking it back to the car. He buys her cotton candy, and holds her purse while she takes a turn on the coconut shy, and laughs with her when she misses with every shot. “I guess I should leave the aim game to you,” she says, and kisses his cheek softly. He pushes his glasses up his nose again and she grins widely. 

Blaine helps her onto a horse on the carousel, and takes the one beside her, and she laughs at his laughter as the horses go up and down, the desperate jangling tune loud in her ears. Blaine offers to win her a goldfish and she says she doesn’t want a goldfish, what would she do with one? He shrugs and says nothing, and they both stand for long minutes watching the slow revolution of the fair’s big wheel. “Do you want to?” he asks, and she shrugs her shoulders noncommittally. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s kinda high.”

He blinks at her for a moment and then grins wonkily. “You’re top of the pyramid.”

“But the girls are holding me there.”

Blaine’s smile flickers, but stays put. “If it would make you feel safer, I can hold you up there?”

Kitty is genuinely surprised to find that the offer makes her feel warm, despite the growing chill in the evening air. “Okay then, sure,” she says. 

True to his word, as the wheel starts to turn, he reaches for her hand and holds it gently in both of his. He is, she decides, genuinely sweet, and so she shuffles in her seat to be closer, to lean into his side, and press a gentle kiss to his jaw. “You’re the neatest,” she says, and guides his arm around her shoulders and she wraps hers around his waist. It’s kinda awesome, how easily she moulds against him. He smells like citrus and earth, and the pomade in his hair, and the background hint of tobacco smoke. She likes it, and nuzzles his cheek into his shoulder.

Back on the ground, he says it’s pushing on for 7 o’clock, and they should be getting home. There’s music in the midway though, and Kitty stops him to dance. The lights reflect in his glasses, and his hazel eyes glitter, and Kitty never wants to stop dancing with him. She tells him as much, and he says, “Do you want to go to prom with me?” Maybe it’s the euphoria, or maybe it’s kamikaze, but she nods immediately and says yes, yes she does. She doesn’t ever want to stop dancing with Blaine Anderson. He tilts his head down to her and she bobs up on her toes just slightly, and their lips meet in the middle in a stilted, surprised kiss that’s messy and quick and barely anything, but they’re still both breathless and surprised when they separate.

_Prom_ , she thinks. _Won’t the girls be surprised_. Still, her weird little band geek admirer will probably look dazzling with a pink carnation buttonhole, and she has her eye on the perfect baby pink prom dress…

*

Blaine drops her home at a little after 7.30. He stops the car at the end of her drive and she turns in her seat to face him. “So,” she says, and he looks down at his lap.

“So.”

She doesn’t really know what to say next. Blaine isn’t like the boys who usually take her out. Those boys usually have their hands up her skirt, or over her bra, before they’ve even switched the engine off. Blaine’s clearly not that boy. So she leans in towards him and catches his jaw with her hand. “I’m glad you asked me out tonight,” she whispers, and presses her lips with firmer intent against his, and smiles into the kiss when his warm palm curls around the back of her head in turn. It’s dry and chaste, and she pulls away with a smile, wiping red lipstick from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. 

“Rebel Without A Cause is on at the revival,” he says, eventually, throat working. 

“James Dean,” she says, with a sigh, and Blaine ducks his head and laughs but offers no further comment.

“Wanna go this weekend?” he asks, and she shrugs her shoulders and checks her reflection in the mirror.

“That’d be swell,” she says. “You can pick me up at 2, and we can get milkshakes before.”

“Sure,” he says, and she grabs her purse and her giant stuffed dog, and tries to pretend she’s not bouncing as she heads up her path and in her front door.

(She drops all pretence, her purse, and the dog, once she has the door closed behind her, leaning against it and letting the overwhelming happiness she feels bubble through her skin. Blaine Anderson might just be the best thing to happen to her yet.)

**FINIS**


End file.
